


it breaks if you don't force it

by orphan_account



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-03
Updated: 2010-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"We're not going to talk about this."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	it breaks if you don't force it

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The Editors "Munich".

It isn't that he doesn't want Brad. It's the opposite. It's that he wants Brad, and that fucks everything up, fucks up the chain of command and him being objective, fucks up Iraq worse than it already had been. And Brad wants it too, which makes it even worse.

Nate's been trying to avoid the confrontation, he's been trying to do everything to avoid it, putting Gunny between them, putting Ray between them, flapping his gums, so that they aren't alone before Nate leaves it behind. After that, well, it'll be easier across the country.

But Brad gets his turn in before Nate can run away from it all, run away from Pendleton and the Marines and Brad. He catches Nate in a corner the night they're all toasting Nate leaving and pointedly not saying he's abandoned them, and it's just a capper on a night that's been too hard and too long already.

"We should talk," Brad says, a glass of something alcoholic in his hand, polished stiff and dapper, and Nate goes cold.

"I should get back to the party," Nate says, because pretending not to regret the choice you made already is easier than pretending not to regret the choice you're not going to make.

"Nate," Brad says, low, and that practically freezes Nate into place.

"We're not going to talk about this," Nate says, finally, because there isn't any doubt that this is what Brad came to talk about. That Brad would take it as leaving him, not just the Marines.

Brad watches him for a second, cold as ever, before he breaks into a humourless smile. "We're not?" he asks.

"I think," Nate says slowly. "I think that sometimes combat stress makes you see things that aren't there—"

"You coward," Brad says, quiet.

"I think," Nate repeats. "I think you are mistaking trust for something completely different. And in a few months you'll be glad I'm doing this, and saving us both from what happens when you realize it's nothing but infatuation."

"You fucking coward," Brad says, still quiet, still barely audible.

And cowardice is the opposite of what this is, Nate looking Brad in the face and turning down the thing he wants and the thing he knows Brad won't want as soon as his head clears, gets his head back to Pacific standard time, gets back to Pacific standard thinking.

"I'm sorry," Nate is, because he is, but mostly he's feeling sorry for himself, because he knows Brad is going to thank him in the long run, if he keeps talking to him, but that's the price you pay when you put other men in front of yourself, even when it's not your job anymore.

"Enjoy Harvard," Brad says, and turns on his heel, precise parade turn, perfect form, and Nate waits for him to walk out of sight before he goes to find something hard and sharp to drink.


End file.
